Ten Years in Luck
by Sylvanius
Summary: Everyone deserves a bit of luck on Midwinter. Post-RotG. AU timeline where Daine and Numair are not together. Fluff and flirtation.
1. 453 HE

Midwinter in Corus was a force to be reckoned with. The entire city found itself caught up in the celebration, and romance, of the holiday. Feasting, drink, and dancing could be found in every corner—along with lustful couples if you looked hard enough. The celebration offered a reprieve from the dark, cold December days and so it was not without irritation that Numair and Daine found themselves two day's north of Corus on the day in question. A blizzard had waylaid their journey home and the pair was now confined to wait out the night in a cave just off the main road.

While Numair had become used to camping over the years, he had never been fully able to embrace the experience in the winter. He did not enjoy being cold, or damp, and the experience left him longing for the comforts of home on even the best of days.

"As least the fire's decent," Daine said, adding more wood and coaxing the fire higher. Numair offered a smile in response but his heart wasn't in it.

"Are you going to pout all night?" She sighed, eyeing him across the flames.

"I might." He couldn't help but crack a genuine smile. Kit twisted in his lap, before curling back into a ball—fast asleep. He stroked the dragon and felt her sigh beneath his hand.

"See? This isn't so bad. I bet you're the only one in the realm who gets to spend Midwinter cuddling a dragon." He laughed outright at this.

"You do have a penchant for looking at the bright side, Magelet. I will say that while we are lacking some preferred creature comforts I could not wish for better company." He offered a miniscule bow in her direction, careful not to crush the sleeping dragon.

"I can agree on that." She cocked an eyebrow at him, smile turning mischievous. "Though I have to say that there would probably be a fair number of broken hearts at court to hear that."

"Your swain's will have to wait for another year, I'm afraid," he sighed dramatically.

"I was referring to _you_ , Master Mage," she stuck her tongue out, teasing.

"I don't think any hearts are breaking this year." He leaned back, feeling Kit stretch and shudder before settling once more. Daine was watching him thoughtfully, but did not speak. The moment stretched out, the crackling of the fire filling the pause.

"Well, this is fair pathetic," Daine sighed and stood, brushing dirt from her breeches.

"I'm sorry?" Numair looked up, having become lost in his own thoughts.

"This is no way to spend Midwinter. Everyone deserves a bit of luck."

"Luck?" Numair questioned, not fully grasping her meaning. By the time he had caught up she had closed the distance between them and, leaning down, placed a soft, chaste kiss on his lips. If he had thought to respond it was over before he had the chance.

"Midwinter's luck, Numair." She smiled, blushing, and plucked Kitten from his lap before retreating to the back of the cave where their bedrolls were waiting.

"Midwinter's luck," he called to her after a long moment, pleased that she was not witnessing the blush that he could feel burning in his cheeks or the smile that he could not shake.


	2. 454 HE

The following Midwinter proved to be a much more comfortable affair. Numair found himself in considerably better spirits among his 'creature comforts', and took the earliest opportunity to withdraw from court and make his way down to the barracks. If the castle was festive, the barracks were raucous.

Daine's excited exclamation and outstretched arms upon seeing him were enough to confirm that he had made the correct choice—and that Daine had been busy making up for the year prior. Clutching his arm she drew him through the crowd and made sure he had a drink in hand.

"I'd ask you to dance but I think I may fall over," she giggled, collapsing gracelessly on a stool. Numair took the seat next to her, sipping from his mug.

"I think that's a prudent observation, Magelet." He couldn't keep the amusement from his voice. "Besides, surely there are better dance partners here than a tired old man." She rolled her eyes and snorted.

"Should I assume the lady is not pleased by her options?" He teased, surprised by her reaction.

"I'm not sure about any 'ladies' but no, I can't say I am." She turned to him, stray curls falling across her shoulder. "At least not until you got here," she batted her eyelashes at him, giggling at her own antics.

"Careful, Magelet. Less prudent men than myself might take you for a flirt." Despite his warning his words here soft and he reached across the table to tweak her nose. His hand lingered, as if to stroke back her errant curls, before withdrawing again. Daine slouched in her chair, clutching her mug to her chest.

"It's Midwinter—you're _supposed_ to flirt. I wasn't even sure if you'd be here tonight," she took a sip, wide eyes peering at him from over the mug, "thought you might be fair busy breaking those hearts after all." He blushed, catching her reference, and took a drink of his own.

The night crept on towards dawn, but the celebration remained in full-swing. It was only when Daine looked as though she may fall asleep in her chair that Numair decided it may be time to retire. Coaxing her to her feet he led her away from the crowd, allowing her to lean on him heavily as they moved through the hall. He would be lying if he said he was entirely steady himself.

Reaching her doorway she slumped against the frame, hand resting on the handle, and smiled up at him.

"You," he tweaked her nose again, "need to get some rest." He pulled away but she caught his sleeve with her free hand.

"You're not going to leave me unlucky, are you?" She said, impishly. He blushed and opened his mouth to object but closed it again, casting a furtive glance around them. Satisfied that they were alone he leaned in, cupping her cheek in his hand, and pressed his lips against hers. He was gentle, but lingered longer than what could be considered strictly chaste. She sighed into him and he pulled away, slowly. He opened his eyes to meet hers, taking in the pout of her lips in the absence of his own. There was a clicking sound—Daine opening her door—and he pulled away with a strangled laugh.

"Midwinter's luck, Daine." He was already walking away when she returned the sentiment, her door closing behind her shortly thereafter.


	3. 455 HE

Just shy of twenty Daine spent a good deal of Midwinter dancing with various suitors, each one vying for her attention. Numair passed the time in good company—Onua, Buri, and Sarge to be precise. The nervousness of the new recruits, and the bawdy antics of the older riders always promised to entertain.

Daine finally joined them, declining yet another invitation to dance, and sat across from Numair. He passed her his water and she drank, flushed and breathless. Gasping, she handed it back with a thank you.

"Look who's decided to grace us with her presence," Onua teased. Daine blushed, ducking her head. Sarge's deep chuckle resonated next to Numair.

"Hope you didn't think you were getting a break, sweet thing," Sarge winked, "Here comes another." He jerked his chin, motioning behind Daine who blanched and sank into her chair.

"Please, gods, no. I need least another song," she smiled, despite herself. As if on command Sarge straightened and cast a look towards the youth so withering that it would have sent a herd of Killer Unicorns in the opposite direction. The table burst into laughter.

"Poor boy," Buri grinned, obviously not feeling bad in the slightest.

"So," Onua slid closer to Daine, leaning in, "Has anyone caught your fancy?" The older woman's eyes twinkled and Daine blushed, casting a glance at Numair before shaking her head.

"There will be more than a few disappointed men to hear that," Sarge winked at her again.

"Oh, I doubt that." She waved him off. "I'm fair sure they're just in love with the chase."

"Well, another hunter is on the prowl as we speak," Buri eyed a sandy-haired boy venturing warily towards their table. Daine groaned.

"Someone dance with me, please. I can't take anymore small talk." She stood, straightening her tunic. Numair set his mug aside, but Sarge was already standing and giving an exaggerated bow.

"M'lady," he motioned as if smoothing an exaggerated mustache. Daine laughed and responded with an equally silly curtsy before accepting his outstretched arm. She was whisked—carried, if truth be told—away as Sarge hollered for people to clear the way.

The remaining group dispersed slowly over the next several hours. Numair quietly nursed his drink, content to observe the crowd. Fatigue crept in slowly until he decided to take a walk and clear his head before retiring.

A detour found him in the undine's clearing, as he and Daine had taken to calling it. He found himself drawn here on occasion—still hoping for the chance to see the creature that had alluded him so many years ago. He was perched on a boulder, watching for any signs of movement, when footsteps approached from behind. He looked up, pleasantly surprised to see Daine.

"How did you find me?" He asked as she settled next to him.

"Woman's intuition," she replied seriously before breaking into a cheeky smile, "or perhaps it was the forest full of friends on hand to guide me." She nudged his shoulder with her own.

"Ah," he laughed, embarrassed by his own oversight. "Well, I welcome the company."

"You didn't leave me much of a choice, running off like that."

"You looked busy." He clasped his hands in front of him, studying them.

"You know I'm never too busy for you." She scooted closer to him, thigh pressed against his own.

"For now, Magelet, that may be. It won't be long before you have other priorities."

"I think you're getting ahead of yourself." She dismissed his comments and they both fell into silence, studying the pool without much real interest. Daine scooted closer again, until Numair was forced to raise his arm. He wrapped it around her shoulder and looked down only for her lips to press against his own. The kiss was not as tentative as years past but instead was firm, and sweet, and lingering. Daine sank against his chest and he pulled her closer against him.

A sudden splash interruped the silence of the clearing and they broke apart. Staring back at them were the large, blue eyes of an undine. Half-lifted from the water she cocked her head at the couple, curious. Numair lifted his arm from Daine, carefully, and stood as slowly as he could manage. He slunk towards the pool, hand extended and murmuring calming phrases while Daine still.

He stopped several feet from the undine and crouched, extending his hand further. A tense moment passed while the Undine eyed him, warily. Slowly, it reached out and carefully touched the end of Numair's finger with its own. The creature made a soft chattering sound before diving back into the pool with a splash. Numair stared in awe at the ripples spreading across the water's surface.

"See?" Daine called, winking when he turned to look at her with a dumb-struck expression. "I told you it was lucky."


	4. 456 HE

One year since their experience with the undine Daine was, ultimately, proven wrong. By the following Midwinter Daine was only accepting dances from _one_ young man and certainly had not had the same luxury of time to see her friend. The swain's name was Henrick, an hostler who had come to Corus the summer before. She'd taken to him more than any of her previous suitor's and it was a common site to see the pair together when Daine was in the city.

Numair appeared to take it in stride with only his closest friends noticing the extra fervor with which he threw himself into his studies. His pleasure was evident, however, when Thayet roped Daine into making an appearance at court that year. Daine had grumbled for a straight week about the requirement but her annoyance had tempered some when she realized Numair was in the same boat.

They left together shortly after the first set of dances that followed dinner—Daine had tugged on the sleeve of Numair's robe discreetly and even slid her hand into his at one point, coaxing him along when he became distracted by a tray of cheese tarts he was particularly fond of being carried by a passing Page. He followed her, slipping his hands into his pockets when she slid her hand from his own.

He shook his head when she asked if he wanted to drop his robes off in his rooms. "If I am _very_ lucky they will have something horrible and irreparable spilled on them and I will never have to wear them again."

"Thayet knows you too well," she teased, "She probably has a pile of new ones just waiting for such an opportunity."

They took their time on the way to the barracks. An unusually warm December allowed them reprieve from what would normally have been an unpleasant trip. Regardless, it wasn't long before the sounds of music and voices reached them through the cool night air.

Numair slowed, hanging back from the pools of light that filtered from the open windows and doors. "What?" He had faltered, and not caught Daine's last words.

"I said I suppose court wasn't near so bad as I let on. Though I'm fair sure I'll enjoy the rest of my night more." She stood next to him, arms crossed underneath her cloak and gaze cast downwards. Shifting, she turned slightly so that her body faced his own.

Numair offered a smirk that did not reach to his eyes. "I suppose you have a _particular_ reason to enjoy the festivities this year." He kept his hands in his pockets, studying her.

She looked taken aback, eyes glancing upwards to meet his own. A question hung between them for barely a moment before Daine glanced behind her, gaze drawn to the open windows where couples could be seen dancing. She had shaken off whatever her expression had held by the time she looked back at him.

"I suppose I do," she grinned. "He'll be wondering where I am." She took a step away, but looked back at him. "I'll see you inside?" He nodded, offering a smile in return and she moved further away. He watched her go, hanging back.

She paused, just shy of stepping into the light, and sighed. "Oh, Hag's Bones," she muttered and turned back, closing the distance between them rapidly. Numair didn't even have time to take his hands out of his pockets before she grabbed the collar of his robes roughly, and pulled him down to her. She stumbled and he caught them both as she kissed him clumsily and swiftly before pulling back. She held a finger to her lips and made a soft 'shhh' sound as she backed away, a wide smile and a brilliant blush spreading across her features.

"Luck, 'Mair." Her whisper was half-lost amid the music, but the words reached him as she retreated into the light.


	5. 457 HE

By the following Midwinter Henrick was a distant memory that Daine politely ignored in the hallways—nearly as distant as Numair and Daine's hopes to join the festivities that could be heard all across the palace grounds.

Reports of a contained, but concerning, skirmish between a settlement on the Scanran border and a band of Ogres had reached the capital. With heavy snows that would hinder any reasonable hope of travel and a conflict that threatened to spill into Scanra and ignite an already tense relationship Daine and Numair had been called on to correct the situation—and fast.

And so, with spirits high in every corner of the city but her own, Daine found herself hunched over a pile of books and scrolls, stifling a yawn as she closed what felt like the hundredth book of the day.

"I think you're imagining it." She leaned back in her chair, rubbing the fatigue from her eyes.

"I am _not_." Numair replied, sourly. He stood over a large, open book—hands splayed on the table and brow furrowed. He had abandoned his chair half an hour earlier in favor of stretching out his long—and achy—limbs.

Daine stood, feeling her bones creak, and stretched her arms above her head. She leaned against the table, peering out the window wistfully.

"Daine," he nudged her arm and motioned to an unopened scroll, but his eyes were understanding. "We have their location and we can scry through the fire. If we can find this spell—and we _can_ ," he stopped her rebuttal before her eyes had finished rolling, "I can channel the influence of your wild magic through the connection. We can negotiate and be prepared to back ourselves up need be. It's the best option."

"Are you convincing me or yourself?" She crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow at her friend.

"Truthfully?" He stood straight and ran a hand through his hair, displacing several strands. "I'm not sure anymore." He ducked his head, smiling sheepishly, "and I think I may have already read this one yesterday."

Daine laughed, "I think we need a break. Just a little one!" She added, recognizing the wariness in his eyes.

Numair sighed. "You're probably right. A _short_ break," he eyed her closely, "and then we return with fresh eyes."

"Should we send for food?" He asked and looked down at his rumpled shirt. "I don't think I'm quite fit to join the banquet," he tugged at the wrinkled fabric, trying to smooth it out. Daine smirked and slid between Numair and the table, hopping up to sit on the surface—not caring that she was perched on his book.

"We _should_ celebrate Midwinter though." She smirked, looking up at him from beneath her lashes.

"I'm really not dressed to attend." He murmured, dusting off his breeches. The smile Daine had been sporting turned into a scowl.

"Numair," she sighed, reaching out to tug at his shirt and pull him closer. He followed, startled, until he was standing between her legs.

"Daine, what—" Realization set in and a blush stained his cheeks. " _Oh_." He grinned and ducked his head, letting Daine pull him in by a fistful of his shirt.

Their lips met and Daine sighed, arcing her back when Numair grazed his hands along her sides. He gripped her firmly, thumbs just _barely_ grazing her inner thighs and she moved into his touch and pressed her body firmly against his. His hands slid to her waist as she pressed her legs closer against his hips, erasing any distance between them. Numair gasped and broke away, a nervous laugh escaping him. If he had been blushing before he looked like he was on fire now.

Daine bit her lip and Numair looked down at where his hands grasped her waist—where her shirt had come untucked and his fingers pressed against bare skin.

"I—" he stopped, eyes widening. "There it is."

"What?" She followed his gaze to the open book she was still settled upon.

He nudged her and she shifted, uncovering the page.

"That's the passage." He untangled himself from his friend and slid the tome from beneath her. Daine watched him as he studied the passage, her lips pursed in amusement. He glanced at her and blushed again before looking back down, but his expression mirrored her own.

"Well, as luck would have it—" He murmured as she moved next to him to read over his shoulder.


	6. 458 HE

Midwinter found Numair recovering from a nasty fever that had left him bedridden for the better part of a month.

"Come in," he called out in response to the knock at his door, continuing to rummage through his drawer for a clean shirt.

"I'm fair vexed with you." The voice, sounding decidedly happier than vexed, surprised him.

"Daine! I thought you were Alanna" He turned, smiling. "You're supposed to be in Dunlath! I'm sorry I'm-" He tugged at his breeches, pulling them higher on his hips and fastening the ties. Daine waved him off, dismissing his blush with a roll of her eyes. She shrugged off her cloak and draped it over a chair, placing a small parcel on the seat.

"I was," she turned back to him, wiping a freshly washed curl from her forehead, "and then I heard from Onua, of all people, that you hadn't been able to get out of bed for ten days." She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at him. Numair ran a finger along the bridge of his nose.

"To be fair, I was not exactly in a condition for writing." He shrugged and she rolled her eyes.

"Numair."

"I didn't want you to worry." He held up his hands in defense.

"Yes, because not writing and choosing to just quietly die before I returned was the perfect way to prevent me from fretting."

"As you can see, Magelet, I am doing just fine," he smiled, "but I am touched by your concern." Daine did not speak and he sighed, crossing his own arms. "And I should have made sure Alanna wrote to you."

"You mean you shouldn't have told her not to write."

"I did n-"

"I've already seen her."

"Ah," his smile turned sheepish, "I really just didn't want you to worry, Daine. By the time it was bad enough-" he sighed again. "I know how I would feel if the situation were reversed. I'm sorry."

"You would be much less calm if the situation were reversed." She said matter-of-factly, studying her nails.

"That's debatable," he replied, dryly.

"Remember the dolphins?"

"Remember the Carthaki palace?" He sputtered and she shrugged. "You'd have to, since actually seeing it is no longer an option."

"That was more about me being mad at Ozorne than anything," she lied, looking away and blushing. He smirked, a pleased smile gracing his features. "But on that note you should be pleased that I am not angrier."

She gazed at him from the corner of her eye, and he couldn't help but grin.

"I'm glad you're okay." She said after a long pause.

"And I'm glad you are here." He said, sincerely.

"Me too." She grinned, turning to him fully and fixing him with a studious gaze. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better, but tired. I am seeing a lot of quiet, cozy nights in my future this winter."

"I figured you may be sitting out on the festivities so I thought I would just have to bring Midwinter to you." She bit her lip and he chuckled.

"I cannot think of a better way to spend the evening. Did you bring me a present?" His gaze fell upon the parcel she had brought with her.

"I did." She stepped closer to him, just out of reach.

"May I open it? You know how impatient I am with presents."

Daine took another step and his gaze fell back to her. "That's from Maura." She bobbed her head in he direction of the gift, but didn't break eye contact.

"I see," he murmured, "then what could your gift be?"

She smiled and took a final step, stopping just shy of pressing against him. She reached out, placing her hands on lightly on his bare waist and running her fingers along his sides. He shuddered, goosebumps springing up along the path she traced.

The crackling of the fire and their breathing were the only sounds permeating the room as she slid her hands upwards, over his chest and around his neck, before pulling him down. The tug around his neck was all he needed to duck his head, pull her closer, and ease his lips over hers.

She pressed into him, urged on by his hand at the small of her back and the other buried in her curls. Daine deepened the kiss, parting her lips and sliding her tongue across his lower lip. He shuddered and accepted her invitation, moving his thigh so that is rested ever-so-slightly between her legs.

Daine moaned, softly, and he brought his hands to her waist to grip her tightly but stumbled backwards into the post of his bed. The sudden shift forced them to break contact with a mutual gasp and she slumped against his chest, staring up at him with wide eyes and parted lips. A heated moment passed, neither one willing to move away, or able to slow their breathing. Daine broke eye contact first, gaze sliding to the bed and then back to Numair-an unspoken question that hung in the air.

Numair licked his lips, unconsciously, and ran his fingers along the strip of exposed skin at her waist-teasing as much as testing his limits. Daine's eyes fluttered close in a sigh and he ducked his head again, lips hovering over hers once more.

The opening of the study door may well have been an explosion with how quickly the pair sprang apart-Daine moving to the chair and tucking her clothes into place, and Numair to his dresser to grab for the first shirt he could find.

"You beat me!" Alanna smiled at Daine as she came into the bedroom, cheeks red from the cold. She paused, briefly, when neither of her friends replied. "Is it alright if I join you? I sent for a Page to bring us food."

"Did you ask for those little tarts?" Numair asked, and Daine laughed at his acute interest.

"You can always send the lad off if he shows up without them-that's what pages are for: to fetch things." Alanna rolled her eyes before pausing, attention falling on Numair. "Did you get dressed in the dark? That shirt looks ridiculous with those breeches."


	7. 459 HE

Numair shivered and pulled his cloak more tightly around his lanky frame. With the Midwinter celebration beginning that night the apothecary had been completely out of holly, and Numair had been forced to venture into the forest. Unfortunately, it appeared that he was not the first to take matters into his own hands and his quest had taken considerably longer than anticipated. Now he was cold, damp, and in a middling mood at best.

He came to the rise of the hill and paused under the naked limbs of an oak tree to catch his breath. A sigh of relief escaped him at the sight of the palace-still far, but visible. He took a step and was nearly knocked off-balance as what could only be described as cold hit him in the neck. Black fire sprang up around his fingers, but quickly retreated as a familiar laugh pierced the air.

"Daine," he spluttered, trying to wipe away the snow that was already melting down his collar.

"You really should pay more attention to your surroundings, Master Mage," she teased, peeking out from behind the oak.

"I didn't think I had to watch for friendly fire," he said dryly. She giggled, and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Who says it's friendly?" She moved to the other side of the trunk, still in sight but out of reach.

Numair placed a hand on his chest in mock hurt, and took a step towards her. "I'm hurt, Dane. The betrayal." He was grinning, his other hand behind his back. He worked carefully and quickly, so that the piles of snow gathering behind her would be formed before he lost her attention.

"You're as hurt as the Hag is bashful," she laughed, the sound quickly turning into a squeal as snowballs hit her neck and arm in quick succession. She ducked fully behind the tree and kicked a pile powder up into the air, coating Numair in a fine mist. They moved back and forth, each staying out of reach from the other and keeping the tree between them as they volleyed snow back and forth, until they were both red-faced and out of breath.

"Truce!" Numair cried, hoarsely. He shivered again, drawing in a stinging breath. He gasped as he felt Daine's body crash against him with a laugh, forcing them both to the ground. Daine landed on top of him, pushing snow into the collar of his cloak and laughing.

"I said truce!" He spluttered.

"I didn't agree to that," she grinned at him and stuck out her tongue.

"Well, if we aren't fighting fair," he grasped her waist and flipped them over so that her back was crushed against the snow, and her front against his own body. He ticked her ribs, lightly, enjoying her reaction.

"Stop!" Tears streamed from her eyes, but her laughter remained even after he complied.

"And what will you do if I don't?" He murmured, drawing her hands away from his chest and pinning them in the snow above her head. She stopped laughing, and shivered-a sensation he could feel ripple through his own body. He ducked his head, slowly, bringing his lips closer to her own. They were close enough to feel each others shallow breathing when Daine turned her head to the side.

Numair's lips barely grazed her cheek when he sat up, suddenly. "I'm sorry," he stammered, turning a brilliant shade of scarlet.

"No," Daine followed suit, tugging at his cloak to stop him from standing. "I'm sorry, I-" she was blushing now, "this will sound fair silly." She groaned and buried her face in her free hand. "It's like dessert."

"What?"

"It's like dessert," she sighed, obviously feeling foolish. "If you have it first you don't have the same anticipation for the end of dinner. I like to," she looked away again, blush deepening, "anticipate it. It's something to look forward to." She looked as though she wanted the earth to swallow her whole.

"Well," he chuckled and stood, pulling her to her feet and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, "I am very fond of dessert, and I would hate to see it lacking."

"You are?" She leaned against him as he urged them to walk together.

"Hm?"

"Fond of dessert? I didn't realize you had a sweet tooth." She was either teasing or probing, maybe both.

"Oh, very." He squeezed her shoulders in a quick hug. "I like to think that I have a very refined palette." That drew a laugh from her and they continued to the barracks, laughing and teasing thoughtlessly along the way. He dropped her at her door, hand lingering to wipe damp curls from her forehead, before taking his leave to get ready for the night.

A warm fire, a hot bath, two changes of clothes, several hair tonics, and a dreadfully long royal feast later Numair found himself in the barracks with good friends and good ale. He had seen Daine briefly-just long enough for her to explain that she had thought him a lost cause when she saw him deep in conversation with Harailt and had gone on without him. He had since settled in with Buri and Sarge as the latter was teaching them a card game that Numair was wary would ultimately involve drinking.

Daine sat down with a sigh, followed closely by Onua.

"Have the quarreling birds made peace?" Sarge asked wickedly as Onua shot him a nasty look.

"Lover's quarrel," Daine whispered to Numair.

"At the very least they should all know to stay away from each other for the time being." Onua grumbled.

"All? Love triangle?" Numair raised an eyebrow at his young friend.

"If triangles had five sides," she rolled her eyes and Numair snorted.

"A love trapezoid?"

"I'm glad everyone else is enjoying this," Onua hissed, saying something rude under her breath about 'no-nothing pups'. "I think we'll need to re-assign some to other groups. Evin may have some thoughts on who we can swap," Onua had turned towards Sarge and Buri and the conversation quickly devolved into a debate about coddling the riders versus damage control.

"I take it your night has been less dramatic than mine?" Daine rested her chin on her hands, looking up at him.

"Apparently. Did I miss a show?" He just noticed a rider sweeping what looked like glass into the corner.

"That you did," she nodded with a nervous laugh, "it turns out not everyone was aware it was a trapperzod."

"Trapezoid." He corrected gently, smiling at her blush.

"Well, whatever it was, you've missed the excitement."

"That's alright, I think I'm more in the mood for dessert anyway." He sipped his mead, eyeing her over his mug. She smirked, looking back at him and standing up.

"Dessert sounds perfect."

"The food's over-" Buri had turned to direct them, catching the last portion of their conversation, but they were already disappearing down the corridor.

Once out of sight Numair grasped Daine's hand in his own, rubbing his thumb along her palm. They stopped, abruptly, at the sound of angry voices drifting from around the corner.

"Two sides of the trapezoid," Daine whispered and tugged on his sleeve for him to follow her through a doorway behind them. They crept into the stables, moving between shafts of moonlight streaming from seams in the walls. Daine put a hand on his chest, and they stopped.

"There's people outside." Her head was tilted in a habit she had never quite broken-a physical response to her magical connection with the people.

"Well, then…," he glanced around, eyes falling upon an empty stall tucked into the corner. The walls cast shadows deep enough for them to sink into as he guided her ahead of him. She turned, coy smile just barely visible in the bit of moonlight that reached them, and leaned back against the wall. Her chin tilted up in anticipation when he approached, pressing the length of his body against her own.

Numair ran his thumb over her cheek, drawing his fingers beneath her chin to tilt it further before moving in to press his lips against hers. There was nothing tentative, nothing chaste, about this kiss. He was firm, and wanting-and she responded.

Daine wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself up. He followed her lead and lifted her by the back of her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist, and he pressed her into the wall once more. Daine moaned, hands threading through his hair, and rocked her hips against his. A strangled sound escaped him as he was forced to pull away, no longer able to ignore the need to breath.

She smiled and bit her lip. Chuckling, Numair ducked his head again. He couldn't be sure whose heart it was that was pounding. Wrapped together as they were it wasn't clear where one of them ended and the other began. The distance between them was nearly closed when a shadow blocked what little light there was.

"Have I not made it clea-oh!" Numair jumped away from Daine, the latter barely holding her balance as she dropped to the ground. Horrified, they turned to see Onua poised with a bucket of water ready to empty over them.

"Oh," their friend grinned, placing the bucket on the ground. "I don't usually make exceptions but-"

"Onua," Daine's tone was not joking. Numair moved forward but Daine held out a hand and stepped between them, shaking her head.

"Daine," Onua laughed and waggled her eyebrows. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"There's nothing to tell. It's not-" Daine sighed, running a hand through her already dishevelled hair. "It's just a Midwinter thing." She put her hands on Onua's shoulder and turned the older woman, pushing her forward as they moved away.

"Well isn't that festive," Onua was laughing outright now. Daine continued to urge Onua forward. As they walked away she cast a glance back at Numair, but did not meet his eyes.

Soon, the sounds of Onua's innuendo's and Daine's protests having faded away, Numair was left alone. Whether it was the adrenaline, lust, or horror at being discovered making him shaky was unclear, but he found himself sitting in the stall for a long while before gathering himself and returning to his rooms.


	8. 460 HE

Another year passed during which the events of the prior Midwinter were neither discussed, nor forgotten. Twelve months, six balls, four journeys, one narrowly-avoided international conflict, and an unusually low number of lovers between the two of them and the only term that could describe Numair's mood as that years celebration approached was _anticipation_.

He was, if possible, even more impatient for the festivities to begin than in years prior as Daine had been outside the capital for the last several weeks with the riders, and all other reasons aside he always found himself missing her when she was absent.

He showed up to the Midwinter Ball far earlier than usual-it was not uncommon for him to have to slip in past what could be considered fashionably late to _any_ formal function-and found his mood quickly turn to that of irritation. Daine and her group had evidently been waylaid, and no one seemed to know when they may arrive in the city.

He considered tracking her down, suddenly very aware of the locket around his wrist, but stopped himself-he had promised himself he would never use the focus unless circumstances absolutely required it. Though it pained him to admit it, seeing his friend that night did _not_ constitute an emergency.

He grumbled his way through dinner, only responding to conversation when absolutely necessary, and slunk in the shadows afterwards to avoid having to dance,socialize, or pretend to be in a welcoming mood for anyone who wasn't a wildmage. His exit was swift, and bordering on inappropriately early. If he knew Daine, and he would bet good money to anyone and everyone that he knew her better than they did, she had made her way directly to the barracks when she arrived.

Frustration began to fade into worry when she was still nowhere to be found. He nursed his drink, periodically having to force himself to stop tapping his finger against the table, as Sarge and Buri tried to wrangle him into a game that would only result in his purse being significantly lighter than when he arrived.

He spent the next hour half-engaging in conversation, fully-engaging in losing money, and eyeing a barn cat across the room-hoping that a sign of excitement from the feline may be an indication that Daine was near. The animal, it seems, was somewhat less enamoured by his former student than he was as his first indication was the girl in question sliding, somewhat gracelessly, onto the bench to his left.

"We weren't sure you would make it!" Sarge greeted her, motioning for a new recruit to fetch Daine an ale.

"We almost didn't! Not two miles south there's nothing but vicious snow squalls," she grimaced, wiping a damp curl from her face.

"Well, now that you're bathed and warmed you can join us in a game." Buri motioned at the cards between them, grinning wickedly.

Daine shivered, and pulled her shawl more snuggly around her shoulders. Numair recognized the floral embroidery as he had gifted it to her several years prior-a gift without occasion that he had been worried said more than she needed to hear. "Bathed, yes. Warmed, not nearly enough." She smiled, sheepishly, but it was clear how exhausted she was.

"Perhaps I can warm you up," Numair faltered, blushing at his words as alternative meanings came to mind.

"Please," she sighed, wistfully. Verbally, she nor anyone else made any indication that his statement was anything but innocent. The feeling of her thigh shifting to press against his own, however, implied a different understanding.

Numair reached into his pocket, praying that his blush was receding and not deepening at her nearness, and pulled out a flask.

"Oho! Here I was thinking we were friends and you've been holding out on us?" Sarge accused.

"It's been far too early in the evening to start with anything more than you've had," Numair replied, eyeing the great beast of a man. "Don't give me that look. I have stories about _you_ I could tell."

"Nothing anyone here would be interested in," he laughed, but the look in his eyes was a clear warning to the mage.

"Oh, I don't know about that." Buri turned to Sarge, resting her chin on her hand. Daine accepted the flask from Numair and took a swig, grimacing as she swallowed, before passing it to the older woman who accepted it and drank with no such indication of any discomfort. "Keep your secrets, though," she grinned, holding the flask to Sarge, "Maybe there will be some new stories about you come morning."

Sarge eyes her warily, taking the flask and taking what was a decidedly dainty sip.

"Someone needs to explain the rules to me," Daine said as she scooted closer to the table, her leg sliding against the side of Numair's. She turned to look at Numair, her expression the very picture of innocence.

"Ah," he felt himself blush again, "if you would look at my pile of gold compared to Buri's I think you'll surmise that I should _not_ be the one to teach you how to play."

Buri laughed, obviously pleased with herself, and started in on a somewhat indirect set of instructions while Daine reached for the flask and tried to follow along. Numair leaned forward as if interested, but slid a hand underneath the table and onto Daine's knee. He was pleased to see her pause, and a barely perceptible blush spread across her cheeks.

"And what happens if I don't want to put more in?" Daine asked her friend, eyeing the woman's considerable pile of gold warily.

"Well, that depends-" Numair wasn't sure what Buri said next, as Daine had scooted forward again to lean over the table-sliding her leg so that his hand now rested on her thigh. He swallowed, mouth dry, and traced small circles with his thumb. She shifted into his touch and he could do nothing but rack his brain for a reason the two of them would need to leave.

Numair had to wonder why he was friends with anyone but Daine at that moment, and if he could just dump his purse out right then and there to make them _go away_ when the sound of music began to travel through the din of the barracks.

Buri turned to Sarge as a lively tune filled the air. "Are these the bards George recommended?"

Sarge nodded, "Aye, they were in the Swoop for most of the summer and were apparently quite popular. Thought I'd snatch them up when I heard they were wintering in Corus."

"Well isn't that a nice Midwinter gift to the recruits," Daine winked, "you're just a big softie afterall."

Sarge released a booming laugh that nearly startled two young out of their seats. "Gift? It's a gift to myself-you remember last year when Evin tried his hand at bard for the night?" The man shuddered, drawing laughter from his friends.

"Thank the gods he's better with a horse than a lute." Buri muttered.

"Some aren't so fair with either," Daine remarked, casting a sly eye at the man next to her.

"I'm not _that_ bad. I stay _on_ ," he sputtered, "most of the time anyway."

"All these years traveling with Daine, you'd think you'd have picked up a trick or two," Buri laughed at the mage's indignant expression.

"Didn't I just tell you I stay on now?" He was grinning now, as amused with himself as he was the sweet sound of Daine's laughter.

"Some chaperones you lot are." Onua sat down next to Sarge, ribbing him with her elbow. Numair felt Daine stiffen, but she otherwise seemed collected.

"We're just complimenting Numair on his fine horsemanship," Sarge chuckled and Onua cast a piercing look at Daine.

"Well, you'd know all about his riding prowess, right Daine?" The woman looked pleased with herself, but Daine only offered a half-hearted laugh coupled with a warning expression that Numair was sure he was mirrored in his own disposition.

"I think we've had enough fun at his expense-you know we're teasing," Buri smiled at Numair who returned the expression genuinely, relieved that someone else had redirected the conversation. "Onua, did you see the troupe Sarge got to play for us?" Buri jerked her head towards the source of the bawdy ballad drawing laughter from the crowd.

"I've heard them before, actually! They were at the fair in Cria," she took a swig of ale, pausing to think, "two years ago, maybe? They seem to have done well for themselves."

"What's the one on the right playing?" Daine peered past Numair, motioning with her chin. Numair, whose hand had ceased its minstrations since Onua had joined them, squeezed her thigh gently. She made gave no response, accepting or rejecting, and he cast a questioning glance in her direction.

"That's a Mandolin," Sarge chimed in, "You don't see them much around here, but it sounds like they've done a fair amount of traveling."

"You should see when they really get going. I saw more than a couple dancers fail to keep up with a jig they played." Onua piped in, nearly standing on the bend to see past Sarge.

"What do you say? Up for giving it a try?" Numair asked Daine, trying to keep his tone casual despite the way his stomach flipped at the thought of stealing her away.

Before Daine could answer, Onua interjected with a wicked grin, "Oh, you should! This is a good one too."

He could _feel_ Daine's pause, his attention split between her and the words to the song-a well known, lively, and _very_ scandalous tale of secret lovers.

"You'd know all about secret affairs, wouldn't you?" Sarge's jibe hit Numair like a bucket of cold water, and judging by how quickly Daine shifted away he knew she heard the same thing. He swallowed hard, turning to his friend only to find Sarge grinning widely at a furiously blushing Buri.

"It was never any of your business in the first place. There's no need to keep harping on it," she mumbled, looking as though she wished the ground would swallow her whole.

"I absolutely do," Sarge replied earnestly, "Did you really think you and Raoul would be able to keep it a secret? Neither of you have ever been known for your discretion in _anything_." He turned away from Buri, defending himself against a barrage of swats from the K'mir.

The music changed, winding up into a furiously paced jig. Onua and Sarge continued to tease Buri as Numair turned to Daine, unsure of how to shift the conversation back to his earlier proposal. He was saved this decision, however, when she turned to him but did not meet his eyes.

"Actually, I see Miri," she bit her lip, "and I promised her a drink. Perhaps another time?" She finally lifted her gaze to meet his own. Her expression was cold, and unlike her-but clear in it's meaning.

"Of course," he murmured, suddenly very self-conscious. As slowly as their relationship had ebbed over the years, it seemed to shift back in an instant. Daine stood, squeezing his shoulder and bid her farewells to the group.

Onua watched her go, before turning to the mage with a questioning look. His expression was enough to mollify her, and if half of his annoyance had shown through he doubted she would broach the subject with him again.

He stayed for another round, not caring that he lost several hands that should have been easy wins. When his friends began to disperse for various ventures he slipped from the barracks, pausing to watch Daine accept a dance from a young officer he knew she was familiar with, and returned to his rooms alone.


	9. 461 HE

The following year found the Royal Banquet a rather somber affair, and the barracks empty. The Scanran War kept those able fighting for their country, and those unable left to worry about their loved ones. Numair found himself falling into both categories as he leaned against the rampart at New Hope. Kel had organized a small, but warm gathering for the camp's denizens, but he hadn't yet felt compelled to join.

Instead, he found himself staring into the night and fending off the cold with a flask of whiskey that burned on its way down. His body ached, but it always seemed to these days-the toils of war taking their toll. He wondered if he had ever been this exhausted, or if his mind just eased the pain in his memories. Nevertheless, he ached. Eight months since he had been home, six since he had felt truly rested, four since he had seen Daine-or heard from her.

His relationship with George had become considerably colder when he realized the rogue had recruited his friend for reconnaissance work. Logically, he knew it made sense. She was smart, capable, and her magical abilities not only made her ideal for the work but likely safer carrying it out than anyone else. Despite that, his stomach turned when he thought of her across enemy lines without him.

This war marked the first time since he had met her that he did not at least have a vague idea of where she was, or how to contact her. Even in Carthak, when Ozorne had stolen her away, he had immediately thought of those sealed rooms beneath the palace. Now, if something happened she would be alone in a cold, foreign land. He flexed his hand, realizing he had been grasping the railing hard enough that his knuckled had cramped.

Numair sighed, taking another swig of the burning liquid, and tried to push thoughts of her from his mind. His gaze settled on a hawk, just visible in the moonlight. He watched idly as it approached, growing larger, and noted that its path was straight and not winding as you would expect of a hunter. He paused, flask half-lifted to his lips, as another thought struck him. Hawks were diurnal-an oversight that had nearly gotten him into significant trouble on a number of occasions.

He extended his magical senses, something he had been keeping a close hold on to conserve his reserves, and immediately sensed the brilliant bloom of copper light enveloping the bird. He stood, grinning broadly, and hastily stuffed the flask back into the pocket of his cloak.

It couldn't have been more than seconds, but his anticipation of her arrival seemed to make her approach stretch into hours. It seemed that her own impatience rivaled his, because instead of perching on his outstretched arm she flew in low and shifted into her own form as soon she could find steady footing. He didn't miss a beat, extending his arms and enveloping her small frame in his cloak.

She wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him so hard he struggled to draw a full breath, and buried her head in his chest. He held her close, hands splayed across her bare back. They stood there for a long moment, pressed together as closely as they could manage in a silent embrace. Eventually, Daine shifted and looked up at the mage. He took a deep breath as her grip loosened, and took in the sight of her as she rested her chin against his chest. She was tired, and thin-even for her. He wanted to brush the stray curls from her weary face, but could not bring himself to draw his hands from where they rested on her waist, relishing in the feel of her skin.

"You're alive," she said, affection and worry and relief all evident in those two words.

"So are you, magelet," he sighed, content. For all of the fatigue and uncertainty that still plagued them, in that moment it was as if the weight of the world had been lifted away. He placed a kiss against her curls, breathing in the familiar scent of her.

"Are you hurt? Are you staying?" He trailed off, too many questions trying to escape him at once.

She shook her head, "No, and only the night I'm afraid." She sighed, "You look tired."

"How long has it been since you've seen a _mirror_ , sweetling?" He was teasing, but his concern eclipsed any mirth in the statement. Regardless, it drew a soft laugh from her.

"Too long." She paused, hands sliding to his waist where they kept a firm grasp. "I've missed you."

"And I you." He swallowed, " _very_ much."

"I'd say that this year has been fair unlucky, wouldn't you?" She dropped her gaze, the words coming out careful and weighted by the past. He paused, meeting her gaze as she stared up at him through long lashes. He was suddenly very aware of their position-her naked body pressed against him, the way she arched her back to close any possible distance between them, the goosebumps spread across her skin, and how she shivered when his thumbs traced circles against the flesh of her hips. He was suddenly also very aware of one other factor-one that made his words want to stick in his throat.

"That may be an understatement," he let out a strangled laugh. "It's too bad. If you'd been here earlier today you would have been able to meet Lenore before she rode out." He focused on her shoulder, where a slip of skin peeked out from between his cloak and her curls.

"Whose Leno-," she faltered, realization dawning with a soft 'oh'. She drew back, hands falling from his sides and the distance between them growing just enough to allow the cold, dividing winter air to settle in the empty space. He followed her lead, slipping his cloak off in a practiced motion that ensured she suffered no gap in coverage before it settled around her shoulders.

"You'll have to tell me about her," she smiled at him, any trace of her earlier disappointment evaporated. He draped an arm around her shoulder, leaving space between them as they moved down the rampart.

"I think you will like her," he replied, "but first, I think you should take some time to bathe, and eat, and warm yourself. You've earned a rest, however short."

"Do I smell that bad?" She groaned.

"I've been holding my breath, so I wouldn't know," he chuckled as she elbowed him. "Gods, I just realized that your feet must be freezing."

"They're fine." She stopped, looking down, and he burst into laughter at the sight of thick bear fur covering her from the ankle down.

"I see you've become resourceful in the wild."

"You have _no_ idea."


	10. 462 HE

Numair tugged at the collar of his robes, feeling stifled even as the cold midwinter air met him at the entry to the veranda. The war had been over, formally, for three months and it seemed that life was only beginning to return to some semblance of normal. Many troops has been able to return home for the holiday, though some were still deployed-Daine included.

George had passed on any updates he received, breaching his normally strict 'need-to-know' policy to placate the mage for recruiting the woman in the first place. News was infrequent and scarce, however, when it came to her well-being. At least any news from her meant she was alive.

He had hoped that she would be home for Midwinter. He knew for a fact that George had given her notice to return home several weeks prior, but he also knew that her movements were unpredictable and that she could not always receive information quickly. As the days had passed, he felt his optimism fade and by the time the banquet had begun and he noticed that no space had been set for her he resigned himself that she would not be there.

He tried to push thoughts of her from his mind, along with the aching feeling that settled in his gut at the thought that the following morning would mark a year since he had last seen her. A year since he had watched her fly away, leaving him with nothing but a cloak heavy with her scent. A year since he'd heard her laugh, seen her smile at him, held her-a year since he'd made a choice that was the honorable one, but not the one he had wanted to make.

He strode across the veranda, wincing as his left knee protested the long strides. A close call with a Scanran mage had left him with a slow healing ache that was doing it's best to linger-though he would take that over the fate of his opponent. He leaned against the railing, stretching his leg out behind him and applying a slow, but firm stretch to the nagging injury. Numair looked out at the barren gardens. Despite the cold, and the thin layer of snow dusting the grounds, there was movement in every corner of the yard.

He laughed, taking notice at how many lovers did not quite seem to grasp how much less the gardens concealed without foliage. Though hardly the most respectable example, it was good to see true celebration at the palace again. It had been two years since he had been surrounded by this much joy, and he relished in it despite the one glaring absence he couldn't shake.

Drawn by a familiar lilting voice his eyes were drawn to the east, where they fell upon a red-headed knight leaning against a man's shoulder. He had meant to avert his gaze, giving George and Alanna some well-deserved privacy, when he noticed they were not alone.

Daine stood with them; war-weary, thin, and glowing. She was talking happily with the Lioness and her husband, but her gaze was settled firmly on Numair. She smiled when she saw she had caught his eye and he stood abruptly, ignoring the sharp pain in his knee. He strode down the stairs as quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself, his long legs carrying him quickly to the group.

"You're home." The statement came out breathless as he approached, eyes firmly on the wildmage as the older couple stepped aside to make room. He stopped, leaving space between them and acutely aware that they were not alone.

"I am," she beamed, just as breathlessly. "I came to find you but you'd already left and I was _not_ fit for public."

Alanna sniggered, "I _heard_. Did Onua really make you rinse off in the stables?"

Daine broke eye contact with Numair just long enough to throw a sour look at her friend. " _No_. Though I think I need new towels." Her last statement was sheepish, a blush spreading across her already flushed face.

"It's good to have you back, lass," George interjected, "I have a lot to thank you for." The relief in his voice was evident. He, perhaps more than anyone, understood the dangers of what he had asked of her.

"It's good to _be_ back. It's been so long I feel like I'll have to learn my way around again." Her grin faltered, replaced by a polite but tentative smile. "Where's Lenore?"

Numair blinked, lost for a second. "I have no idea," he said finally, with an indifferent shrug.

"Oh," her grin returned, though she tried to temper it, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Me too." His expression mirrored hers, not even fully hearing his own words.

"Have you been given leave for a rest?" Alanna asked, looking over the other woman with the concern of a mother.

"Yes, cleared with Jon." It was George who spoke, directed at Daine. She turned to their friends, releasing a sigh of relief.

"That's fair welcome news."

"You're welcome to travel with us to the Swoop-" Alanna's words were lost on Numair, who remained transfixed on Daine. He fidgeted with the hem of his robes, anxious and enraptured at her presence. Several moments passed before Numair cleared his throat, not caring in the slightest what he may be interrupting.

"If you'll excuse us." He grasped Daine's hand, pulling her away and not caring to offer any excuse or acknowledge Alanna's muttered ' _please_ ' and accompanying eye roll. He moved quickly, only slowing so that Daine did not have to jog.

"Numair," she started but was cut off as he smiled at her but kept up his pace.

"Patience, magelet, just a little further." Numair led them through the sparse foliage to the small path that led between the walls and the outside of the east wing where the mages floors were located. Soon they reached a small door, half-covered in browning ivy, and he fiddled with the rusting handle until it opened. He ushered her ahead of him, out of the cold, into a nook of an entryway that led to a thin, windy flight of stairs; an old, out of use servants entry.

He reached for her hand again, pulling her so that she spun around to face him. Before she had time to speak his hands were on her waist and he had pressed her into the shadowy niche beneath the stairs, pressing her back against the cold stone and his lips against hers hungrily.

She responded in kind, arching her breasts against him and winding her hands into his hair where she grasped him roughly. His hands delved under her cloak, feeling the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips. He deepened the kiss as they explored, lost in the sensation of one another. They broke away with a mutual gasp. Daine looked at him, drunk with lust. Her breathing was heavy as her hands continued to run over his chest.

"I thought you might be taking me to your rooms," her voice was husky.

"I am," he murmured, covering her lips with his own once more. There was no hesitation with the return this time. He coaxed her lips apart, feeling her surrender and sink into him. Hands and lips wandered, and clothes were becoming more displaced when he pulled away again. She groaned, trying to close the distance once more, but laughed softly when he pulled back out of reach.

"Feeling the need for some extra luck this year, Master Mage?" She eyed him coyly and he blushed, though his gaze was serious.

"Yes," he nodded, earnestly, "I am feeling the need for a _lot_ of luck. In fact, to be certain that I have enough I am going to kiss you more, right now," he eased his lips over hers, softly, "and then I am going to take you to my rooms and kiss you again," his eyes travelled over her in a way that made her squirm and left no question as to his intentions. "And then, tomorrow morning, I am going to kiss you again." His lips brushed the skin beneath her earlobe, "and again the next day." He moved down her neck, relishing in the whimper that escaped her as his tongue found a sensitive spot above her collarbone. "Unless you have any objections?"

"Oh, be quiet," she grasped his collar, pulling him down to her. "Midwinter's luck, Numair," she murmured as the distance between them closed once and for all.


End file.
